The Third Half
by Rusty Tater Tot
Summary: First was Mycroft. He was obviously important. After all, he was basically the British Government! Next came Sherlock. Internet phenomenon with the funny hat. World's only consulting detective. The only man on the planet who could be such a dick all the time and get away with it. Between the two of them, it was easy to forget about little Alaya, the youngest of the Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

Between Mycroft running the government and Sherlock being the internet phenomenon with the funny hat, not too many people noticed the third Holmes child, little Alaya (or Allie, as she preferred to be called). And who could really blame them?

The Holmes brothers' exploits were widely famed, and Allie was, as her brothers made sure she knew, nothing special. She was "a goldfish" to her dear brothers. Mycroft, especially. Sherlock seemed to sense her inner genius, and he was often very kind to her, but as he explained when the two were slightly younger, "Us boys have to stick together." He and Mycroft would then disappear for hours on end, writing up crossword puzzles and playing chess.

The sad truth about Alaya was that she never got the opportunity to develop her talents. They were there, but they were uncharted territory to her. Other people often sensed this, and she was well-liked for it, but in the Holmes' family, well-liked meant nothing. Perfection was everything to those Allie loved best, and she was far from it. It was not surprising to Allie when her older brothers left her for those with more refined minds.

As a result of such a brilliant mind with such lack of knowledge on just how to use it, Allie often found herself getting into trouble. She was kicked out of high-school at the age of fourteen, and finished her education online.

She graduated college at the age of twenty, and promptly moved away afterwards. She kept her distance from the siblings who had drawn her away from others during childhood. Obviously they were fine with this, as they never sought her out.

Alaya might have stayed away from them, but she still watched them from afar. She was watching when John moved into 221B Baker Street with her ex-best friend, and she knew of all the mysteries they had together. As emotionally damaged as she was, she always found it in her to laugh when she observed how reverently John treated Sherlock.

She was there when Sherlock jumped from the building, and she was at his funeral, watching from a distance. She didn't have the nerve to approach John. Not because she knew Sherlock was still alive and would have a problem lying about it. Allie considered herself a very good actress.

No, Allie was scared to talk to John because she was afraid she would go up to her best friend's new best friend and say to him, "Hi, John. I'm Alaya - Sherlock's sister and best friend," and he would look at her and squint and say, "Sorry, who?"

Because the thing that Allie was scared of, more than anything in the world, was that her dear, not-quite brother had forgotten that she, the annoying little sister, had ever existed.

And that's where our story begins.


	2. Chapter 2

Allie stood behind a tree, watching as the people her brother had accumulated over the years gathered to mourn his tragic passing. "What the hell?" she said to herself. "They can't seriously believe that he's actually dead!" A small voice in the back of her head reminded her that ordinary people didn't pick up on stuff like that quite as quickly.

"But… He isn't dead. Obviously," she argued with herself. "Yes, of course it's obvious, or you wouldn't have noticed it," replied the little voice in her head. "I'm not an idiot," Allie told herself. "Sherlock didn't believe that," the voice said. "Doesn't," corrected Allie. "He's not dead."

She hushed herself and retreated further under the shadows of the willow tree she stood under. John was walking by with a tall, frizzy-haired blonde that Allie could only guess was John's sister.

She watched as not only the Watsons but also the crying landlady, the smoking police inspector, and the pale pathologist walked by. From her research, Allie knew that the pathologist was deeply in love with her brother. She also knew that typically, when people were in love, they would show some signs of grief, anger, _anything_ when the victim of their affections brutally killed himself.

"Sorry, did I say victim?" Allie muttered softly to herself, staring at the brunette's receding back. "I meant…" her voice died out as the last person faded into the distance. She turned back towards the grave that presumably marked her brother's burial location. Mycroft was the only one left standing there.

Allie slipped her handy-dandy binoculars out of her pocket and peered through them towards where her brother stood. "Talking to himself?" she wondered aloud. A moment later a branch near Mycroft rustled; out stepped Sherlock. "Typical," Allie snorted. "Only Sherlock would eavesdrop on his own funeral."

Allie pressed herself against the trunk of the tree as her brothers walked by. Every bone in her body longed to go meet them, to speak to them, but her mind was insistent. She would not break the silence.

After college, Allie had left in rather a hurry. As in, the day she graduated. Her friends had been shocked to learn that she was graduating two years earlier than the others her age, but her family had only considered it normal. Below average, even.

Angry that, once again, Allie was considered average compared to her perfect brothers, she packed her bags and left. It wasn't hard for her to get a job in London, and sooner or later she stopped trying to hide from her family.

To her surprise, however, they weren't looking for her. Nowhere. There was no sign of any inquiries made for the twenty-year old with the icy blue eyes who had run away from home, and on the rare occasions she saw them on the street, Allie melted into the shadows.

Right now was no different. Allie could barely breathe as the men who had ruined her life walked only a few feet away from her. Allie so desperately wanted to run to them, to fling herself into their arms, but she knew she couldn't - so instead she went to her first line of defense.

Usually Allie's Mind Palace was warm and bright and cosy, but after having seen her brothers it was cold and dreary and dreadful.

"Hello," she said to the Mind Palace version of herself - the annoying, depressive version that couldn't help but argue. "Long time no see," she said, again trying to start a conversation. "Not as long as it's been since you've seen your brothers," replied Alaya coldly. "How long has it been, seven, eight years?" "Five," said Allie quietly. She hated when she was in moods like this because Mind Palace Alaya - or just Alaya, which Allie found more fitting for the Holmes version of herself - always attacked her.

"Ah," said Alaya with a nasty smile, and she sat down on a leather chair that appeared from nowhere and pressed her fingers together. "I suppose you can't conjure one up for me?" asked Allie, looking at the comfortable furniture her 'evil twin' was sitting on. "Your Mind Palace," shrugged Alaya.

Allie glared at her. Another chair appeared, this one behind Allie. She went to sit down on it, but right as she shifted her weight the chair disappeared. "Hey!" Allie cried, looking at Alaya from where she sat on the ground.

"I thought you might break it," said Alaya. "I wanted to save it from having to hold your fat butt." With as much dignity as she could muster, Allie rose from the ground. "I can't deal with you when you're like this," she announced. Alaya grinned at her. "Likewise," she replied. Allie firmly planted her feet in the ground and crossed her arms.

Right before she exited, she heard Alaya say in her normal voice, "Sherlock's leaving the country to chase down a killer - you might never see him again."

Allie quickly re-entered her mind. "What do you mean?" she demanded of herself. Alaya laughed bitterly. "What," she said. "Didn't you notice? Look at the clues, _Allie_." She spat on her name. Allie glanced around, wondering what clues she meant. As though on command, files and files worth of information started flying towards her."

"Sherlock Holmes - internet phenomenon, has a funny hat. Total genius," she said. "So far, so good," said Alaya. "You might want to actually think, though." Allie ignored her.

"He has a game plan for everything. Knows just how it'll all work out." "Naturally," added Alaya. "Big bad wolf comes to town," Allie muttered. Alaya let out a short laugh. "I'm assuming you mean Richard Brook?" she asked. "No, I mean James Moriarty," replied Allie haughtily. "Very good," said Alaya with a smile.

"James Moriarty. A liar. He told people Sherlock hired him - but why?" "Oh, Allie," Alaya said. "Why don't you just _think_ a little?" Allie hit her forehead with an open palm. "Of course!" she exclaimed a moment later. "James Moriarty, a total criminal mastermind! He can do _anything_! Calls himself a 'consulting criminal'! He's a _genius_ who started hanging around Sherlock! He convinced Sherlock to fake his own death for some reason, I'd bet my life on it!"

"Not that that's saying too much," added Alaya. "But why?" asked Allie. "Why bother going through all that trouble when he knows how smart my brother is?" "Allie," said Alaya. "Think."

Allie closed her eyes for a moment. They popped open, and she grinned. "Of _course!_ " she exclaimed. "He's bored!" Alaya clapped slowly. "Give the girl a prize," she said sarcastically. Allie spun to face her. "Bye, Alaya!" she said.

"Wait!" cried Alaya. "Where are you going?" Allie gave her a smile. Even as she stood there, the gray of the Mind Palace faded, leaving the place a glowing, flawless white. Alaya observed this. She knew how well the appearance of the Mind Palace reflected Allie's mood. "My brother is chasing down the world's only consulting criminal," Allie said. "And the only man in the world who's just as smart as the Holmes."

"Yes," said Alaya. "I know that." "But do you know what's better than a fair fight between two geniuses?" asked Allie. Alaya considered this. "No," she admitted. Allie nodded. "I'm feeling energised, so I'll tell you," she said. "It's an uneven fight between three geniuses - Sherlock, Moriarty, and, of course, myself!"


	3. Chapter 3

Allie was nervous - and not the sweaty-hands, continuously checking mirror kind of nervous - the gut-wrenching, puking into a paper bag kind of nervous. She was seeing her brother - her not-quite brother, the best and only friend of her childhood - for the first time in five years.

"It's not going to be horrible," she said to herself. "Of course not," said Alaya. "You know, Sherlock's really busy and stressed out after having faked his own death, and I'm sure seeing his long-lost sister for the first time in five years won't affect that at all."

Allie froze in the act of putting on her earrings. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. "You think… it won't be good for him to see me?" The Alaya inside sat down. "I think that Sherlock is your brother."

Allie crossed her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked in an offended tone. "What it means," Alaya responded, "is that he's going to react in the same way you would react." Allie considered this for a moment. "It won't be good for him to see me," she said with much finality.

Despite all of her misgivings, Allie finally managed to make herself presentable and leave the comfort of her own flat. Of course, leaving her own flat didn't mean leaving behind Alaya, and every time she closed her eyes Allie caught a glimpse of her alternate self.

"This is a mistake," Alaya would sing, and Allie would wrench open her eyes and stare out the window. She was delighted when the cab finally pulled up outside of 221B Baker Street. "Thanks," she said to the driver as she handed him her money.

Allie took a moment to examine herself in her pocket mirror once more. She had her long, nut-brown hair in a braid down her back, and she had slipped on a deerstalker, of all hats. She wore a white button-up shirt and a knee-length brown skirt. Her heels made her at least two inches taller than her 5' 7", and she held a notepad in her hand. If she didn't know better, Allie would say she looked like a reporter.

Allie looked at the 'bell broken, please knock' sign on the front door and sighed. "Don't be dull," Alaya said right next to her. Allie jumped. "Hey!" she exclaimed. "I never told you that you could come out of my Mind Palace." "You never told me I couldn't, either," replied Alaya.

"Go away, I'm busy," said Allie. Alaya smirked. "Yes, you're busy trying to break into your dead brother's flat, and I'm watching." Allie rolled her eyes, rolled back her sleeves, looked up towards the second story window and began to climb.

A few minutes later found Allie panting in the kitchen of Sherlock's flat. His old flat, that is. Allie quickly straightened herself up and took a seat at the table. She could hear uneven footsteps coming up the stairs.

"The soldier," Alaya said. Allie nodded. "His limp is back," she added. "A bit obvious, of course," Alaya said. They both fell quiet as the door creaked open.

"Who the hell are you?" John demanded as soon as he saw Allie. Alaya was, of course, safe in the knowledge that only little Allie could see her. "That's of no matter right now, John," said Allie, adjusting the big sunglasses on her face. She was frightened that John might recognise her similarities with Sherlock.

"No matter? I think it's of every matter," John said, taking a step back. Allie observed him edging towards a cabinet next to the door. "Reaching for a gun, no doubt," Alaya whispered in her ear.

"Let's talk about Sherlock," said Allie, leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs in front of her. John froze. "Kitty? Kitty Riley? Is that you? Listen, I thought I'd told you: I refuse to give you or anybody from the London Prattler an interview! Especially not after what you did to Sherlock!"

Allie pulled a pen out from behind her ear and scribbled on her notepad.

Kitty Riley, possible reporter for the London Prattler

John looked nervously towards her writing pad. "I want you to get out," he said. Allie nodded. "Alright, John," she said, rising and moving towards the door. John looked relieved. "One more question," Allie said, spinning around.

"Is it true that Sherlock had a younger sister who ran away from home when she was twenty?" To her disappointment, Allie could see that John had no idea what she was talking about. "What?" asked John bewilderedly. "Where did you get that rumour?" "Never mind," said Allie. "Goodbye, John."

On the way back to her own flat, Allie removed her sunglasses, hat, and the braid. She looked in her pocket mirror once more.

She most definitely had the Holmes eyes, the big blue ones that looked like they stared right into your soul. Her long hair was curly, and if it were shorter it would look just like Sherlock's. She had high, wonderfully chiseled cheekbones, and her teeth were pearly white and straight.

"Yes, you're quite the looker," said Alaya, appearing in the seat next to her. Allie held up the notepad in her hand. "We need to find out who Kitty Riley is and if we can use her in any way," she told herself.

* * *

Later that night, Allie sat typing at the computer while Alaya sat on the sofa nearby, presumably going through her Mind Palace. "Allie," she said after a while. Allie, in the middle of some important research, barely heard her. "H'mm?" she asked, not looking up. Alaya rose from the couch. "Allie, I've found something. In the Mind Palace." Allie looked up. "About Kitty Riley?" she asked. Alaya nodded. "Yes," she said, "but you're not going to like it."

Allie closed her eyes and went into her own Mind Palace. There she found Alaya, not surrounded by the usual boxes and boxes of information, but instead with one piece of paper in front of her. "We really don't have much on Miss Riley, do we," said Allie.

Alaya didn't look up from her paper. "It isn't much," she said. "Just a mention." "A mention is better than nothing," said Allie, moving forwards to take the paper. She quickly skimmed over the paper. She soon found the section where it mentioned the reporter. She read it. Again. And again. And again.

"What does it mean?" Allie asked. Alaya sighed and stood up. She took the paper back from Allie and read it aloud.

"Kitty Riley, investigative reporter, is best known for housing Moriarty (see file F-23), who was staying with her under the alias Richard Brook, and writing for her newspaper the London Prattler that Moriarty was an invention of Sherlock Holmes (see file A-1)."

They both stood in silence for a moment before Alaya looked up. "It means," she said slowly. "That Miss Kitty Riley, lured in under false pretenses, was at least partly responsible for the fall of Sherlock Holmes."


	4. Chapter 4

Allie looked nervously at her passport once more. In her wallet, she had all the money she possessed - in cash form, of course. Also in her wallet was an identification card. This identification card had a picture of her on it, alongside her date of birth, height, and hair colour. The name and eye colour on said ID card were not Allie's own.

Allie didn't feel comfortable in the brown eye contacts. She also didn't like the idea of being addressed as 'Kitty'. "A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do," she said quietly, looking in the mirror. "Keep telling yourself that," said Alaya.

"You could help me," Allie said to herself. Alaya sighed and motioned for her to turn around. Allie closed her eyes and did as she was instructed. Almost immediately she was whisked away to her Mind Palace, where Alaya sat to critique her.

"Tuck the shirt in," commanded Alaya. "And pull that little wisp of hair out from behind your ear." Allie obeyed, and soon she picked up the bag - which contained her clothes, a few books, and some writing utensils - and headed out the door.

"To the airport," she said to the man in the taxi. She stared out the window, blocking out Alaya's inane prattling with thoughts of herself seeing Sherlock again. "You do realise that he isn't going to know it's you?" Alaya asked her after a while. Allie looked at her absently. "It's Sherlock," she said. "Nobody fools Sherlock."

"You will," said Alaya matter-of-factly. Allie closed her eyes and entered her Mind Palace, where Alaya watched as Allie constructed scene after scene of her meeting with Sherlock.

" _Hello, Sherlock," Allie said. Sherlock jerked his head up. "Al-Alaya?" he asked. He looked shocked. Allie smiled. "It's Allie now," she told her brother, and then they were embracing -_

Alaya laughed. Allie glared at her. "I told you," said Alaya, "that Sherlock won't recognise you." Allie closed her eyes again.

" _Ah," said Sherlock, looking up at Allie's greeting. "Miss Riley, we meet again." "Indeed, Sherlock," said Allie with a smile. "Please," said Sherlock. "Call me Mr. Holmes. Sherlock is extended to my friends, and my friends alone. Hardly my enemies." Allie blinked coolly. Sherlock laughed, a cruel, grating laugh. "Surely you didn't think we were friends?" he asked. Allie couldn't respond. She was choking. She turned to where Alaya sat, watching her with big, sad eyes. "Help me!" she begged, but the words were caught in her mouth, and Allie fell to the ground, gasping. "You poor, poor thing," Alaya whispered as Allie twitched on the ground. Sherlock's shadow fell across her. "You… Repel… Me," he whispered, and then everything went dark._

Allie jerked her eyes open. They were filled with tears. Sweat dripped down her face and her shirt was soaked through with the stuff. "Why didn't you help me?" she demanded of Alaya. Alaya shrugged. "I couldn't," she said. "You lost control of me."

Allie had only completely lost control of her Mind Palace once that she could remember. She had been eleven years old at the time, and Sherlock had fallen asleep. Nobody could get him to wake up. On the car ride to the hospital, Allie had slipped into her Mind Palace, where she received beating after beating from her parents, telling her she had been a bad girl. She and Alaya were better friends then, and afterwards Alaya had held her hand and comforted her while the doctors talked to her mum and dad.

"Sherlock has to go away for a while," they told her, and Alaya cried with her as the men in white robes with gloves took Sherlock away, to a rehabilitation center. Allie never told her parents about Alaya. She had told Sherlock, once.

"Nobody ever taught you," he said, watching her. "Taught me what?" asked Allie. She was thirteen, Sherlock was eighteen. "How to use your Mind Palace," he said. "I'm sure I know," she said defensively. "Besides, I don't need to know how to use it, 'cause I've got Alaya to work it for me." Sherlock sat up at this point in the conversation. "Who's Alaya?" he asked his little sister.

"You're talking to her, dumbo," said Mycroft, walking by the room. Sherlock scoffed. "No," he said. "I'm talking to _Allie_." Once Mycroft had left, Sherlock turned once again to his little sister. "Allie, who is Alaya?" he asked again.

Allie had explained briefly who Alaya was and what Alaya meant to her, and Sherlock had speculated in a way that only Sherlock could. Not, "Allie, you're insane," not, "don't worry, Allie, that's completely normal, just like everything else about you," not "Take your imaginary friend and get out of my room." Sherlock had thought for a moment before saying, "Fascinating! You have an untamed subconscious which has taken the appearance of the tamed version of yourself, someone who _technically_ doesn't even exist, because your mind understands just what it can do but it has no way to tell you, so it transformed into what you trust the most!"

That was the beginning of their friendship, mainly because - as Allie realised at a later time - Sherlock finally noticed just how unique and clever Allie really was. They stayed in contact as Allie homeschooled herself, and Sherlock confided in her when he admitted that she was the only reason he bothered coming back to his parents' house.

When Allie went to college, she often got emails and calls from her parents saying that Sherlock had stopped coming 'round. She never did tell her parents just how much Sherlock came to visit her on campus.

Allie got insanely jealous when, after these visits, all of her 'peers' began swooning over her brother. "Hey, Al," they'd say. "Why didn't you tell us you had such a cute brother?" Allie never mentioned this to Sherlock the next time he came to see her. She left him to his deductions.

When she graduated, Sherlock was the only one who came. Nothing could've dragged Mycroft out of his hiding-hole, and her parents were both at work. "They don't matter," she said when Sherlock approached her, both to congratulate her and to comfort her. "No, they don't," Sherlock had agreed.

Allie had gone home, and her parents both also congratulated her. That was that. No celebration, no fancy dinner, no gifts, nothing. "Only two years early?" her father had asked. "Mycroft graduated at eighteen, and Sherlock…" "Dropped out of college," Sherlock had interrupted, and that's when she knew. Sherlock was trying to hide her from a deeper truth, one that he felt she couldn't face alone.

Allie left later that night, after confronting her parents. They as good as admitted that they were unimpressed by her achievements, and Sherlock had no words to smooth it over. "Allie," he had whispered, "Please don't go, don't leave me, don't make me stay here alone with these machines, I'll crack, I won't be able to bear it."

Allie looked him in the eye, shook her head, and walked away. It was a feat that would've made her parents proud; being able to successfully break the one she loved for my own benefit. Allie had no idea what happened after that, but a few years later, she wasn't sure when, exactly, she looked him up. And started following him. She fell in love with him all over again - her crazy brotherly best friend, and when he pitched himself off of the building, she was horrified.

Horrified that he might have actually done it. All of his current friends would say, "Oh, not Sherlock, he wasn't like that!"

Allie knew better. She thought that she might have left Sherlock as walking, talking, breathing bomb, and little things piled onto it until finally it went off. And then she got over herself and realised that it was all just a clever hoax.

That was all that led up to Allie sitting in the cab, on the way to the airport, to board a plane under the name of Kitty Riley. Kitty Riley, the woman who contributed to the emotional, mental, and physical fall of my brother. Allie should have been angry at her, but every time she tried to be Allie remembered that she was no better. In her mind, Allie was much, _much_ worse. But none of that mattered to Allie at the moment, because, at the moment, Allie could see the airport out of her window. And she smiled, because she knew that she was getting closer. One step closer to finally, after all those years, being able to see her brother once again.


	5. Chapter 5

The plane ride was quite boring to Allie. She spent most of it in her Mind Palace, talking with Alaya. She got quite a few odd looks from fellow passengers, but Allie didn't care. She was thinking about Sherlock.

"Do you think he's forgotten me?" she asked Alaya for the third time. Alaya looked her in the eye. "How could he forget someone so annoying as you?" she asked with a straight face. The whole demeanor of the room was more different than either of them had ever seen it. "What kind of mood are you in right now?" asked Alaya as both of them craned their necks to look around.

The room was, for whatever reason, eggplant purple. It was empty, but that was not a surprise to Allie. Despite having barely any control over her own mind, Allie was a very organised girl, and this bled into her mind. All of the files were tucked neatly away, and they would appear when Alaya asked for them.

"While my brothers have struggles trying to find the right room," Allie once said, "I have troubles convincing myself that I actually need the files!"

"I'm kind of nervous," Allie told Alaya. "But thrilled at the same time! It's fantastic! … And I might throw up." Alaya rolled her eyes. "You're usually cool as a cucumber," she said, and as soon as the words escaped her, the hideous shade of purple faded into a light, minty green.

"Much better," said Alaya approvingly, but as soon as she said it the walls once again changed colours. "Stop it!" she cried, spinning to face Allie. "It's making my head ache!" Allie looked around desperately. "I know, I'm sorry," she said. "I can't help it, it's doing it all on its own!"

The room started spinning, slowly at first and then quicker. "Maybe you don't like flying?" suggested Alaya, but Allie shook her head. "I think I'm going to puke," she exclaimed, covering her mouth.

Immediately the spinning stopped. "Finally," Alaya started to say, but she stopped. "Ugh," said Allie, looking around. The walls were now a pukish, green-yellow colour. "Okay," said Allie, taking a step back. "I'm going to leave now…" Alaya moved towards her, but Allie was faster.

Reopening her eyes, Allie smiled. She was once again on the aeroplane, and Alaya was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the ugly colour.

A few hours later the plane landed, and Allie made her way from it towards a taxi. Once she arrived at her hotel, she went up to the front desk.

"Hello," she said. "Hi," said the woman at the desk. "I have a reservation," said Allie. "Riley?" The woman ran her hand down a list of names. "Ah, Miss Riley!" she said. "Yes, you're right upstairs. Do you need a bellboy to take your luggage?" "That's not necessary," Allie said. She had her purse over her shoulder and her one bag lying on the ground next to her.

She turned to walk away, but inspiration suddenly struck her. "Excuse me," she said, turning back. The woman looked up. "Do you by any chance know which room a William H. is staying in?" she asked. The woman shook her head. "We aren't allowed to give you that information," she said. Allie nodded and walked away.

An hour later found Allie in the lobby once again, quietly observing.

 _The workers are all wearing white,_ she noted. _With black aprons. The ones with hats work in the kitchens, the ones with bow ties work at the front desk, and the people who deliver to the rooms wear little coats._

She watched a bit more before silently approaching a worker who was leaving. "Do you want me to hang that up for you, Sir?" "Yeah, sure," said the man, eager to leave. Allie took it and raced to the loos, where she straightened her clothing and slipped on the coat. "A little big," said Alaya. "But not bad."

Allie walked back into the lobby. "Want me to take that?" she asked another worker. "No, thanks," said the worker suspiciously. Allie purposefully dropped a pen and, when she bent down to get it, spilled a glass of water onto the carpet. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Wait here, I'll go get you another glass of water. And a napkin."

With the waiter standing nearby, Allie then approached the front desk worker, someone different from earlier. "Excuse me, Sir," she said to him. "Some idiot in the kitchen forgot which room was having this delivered." She motioned to the waiter standing there with his cart. "He believes the name of the caller to be a Mr. William H.?"

"William H.?" asked the man. He looked through the guest book. "Ah, here it is," he said finally. "Mr. William H., staying in Room… 542." Allie couldn't believe her luck. "Thank you," she said. She grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and shoved it into the waiter's hand. "There you go!" she cried as she raced towards the staircase.

On the way up, Allie found a doorway that had an empty tray of food. Holding the tray, she worked her way up to the fifth floor.

"536… 538… 540… 542," she said finally. She took a deep breath. "I cannot miss this," said Alaya. "Go away," hissed Allie. "I'm about to see my brother!" "And I can't see him, too?" asked Alaya. She stuck out her lower lip in a fake pout. "You run my Mind Palace," said Allie. "You see him every day."

Alaya considered this. "Okay," she finally sighed. Allie watched her disappear. She turned back towards the door and took another deep breath.

She stepped forwards and knocked soundly on the wood. Without even thinking about it, she knocked in a pattern: ... . .-.. .-.. - -..- / -.. . .- .-. -..- / .. / .- - / ... . .-. . (morse code). It was their knock, her's and Sherlock's. The rest of the family always said that they would know it anywhere, because of how long it was, but Allie and Sherlock stuck with it.

Allie was yanked out of her reverie by the door swinging open. "Yes?" asked a very familiar voice, and Allie once again found herself face to face with her brother.


	6. Chapter 6

"Yes?" asked Sherlock again. Allie opened her mouth to speak but suddenly found it very dry. Sherlock was obviously getting annoyed. "Is that room service?" he asked, pointing to the tray Allie was carrying.

Allie managed to nod. Sherlock opened the door a bit wider and Allie stepped into the room. She looked around and giggled; obviously Sherlock had no experience cleaning whatsoever.

"What is it?" demanded Sherlock. "What's so funny?" Allie set the tray on the desk before turning to face Sherlock. "Nothing, Mr. Holmes," she said. "Don't forget who you are," warned Alaya. "Kitty."

Allie whipped the pencil out from behind her ear. "Do you have anything to say about the recent suicide of the internet-famous detective, Sherlock?" she asked, pencil poised above notepad. Sherlock's curious expression turned to one of shock, then rage.

"How did you find me?" he hissed. Allie cracked a smile - this was bringing back childhood memories of playing hide-and-go-seek with her brothers. "Any comments on how the family didn't turn up to the funeral?" she asked.

Sherlock said nothing, so Allie continued. "Do you have any explanation for why, although they all wondered about the absences of your mother, father and brother, not one of your friends thought to ask about your dear little sister?"

Allie thought Sherlock's face had been pale before, but it was nothing compared to now. "I have no sister," he whispered. "Write that on your little notepad." Alaya smirked. "Should've known," she said with a laugh.

"No," said Allie. "That's not true." Sherlock looked at her. "Your brother Mycroft has no sister. Your parents have no daughter. They never did. You, however… You can't get rid of your best friend so easily. You aren't like the rest of them, are you?"

Sherlock glanced at her again. "I am now," he said. "She was the only one keeping me sane, and when she left… I had to adapt. So I became one of them." "Do you think she blames herself?" asked Allie.

Sherlock stepped closer to her. "Ask her yourself," he said. "She's always in your head. You told me so yourself." Allie suddenly found that she couldn't speak again. "You used to say she was your only friend in the world, aside from me," Sherlock continued. "How does she treat you now, eh?"

"Like my family," Allie said faintly. "Like _a_ family, or like _your_ family?" Sherlock asked. Allie spoke quietly. "Like my family," she said. Sherlock considered this. "That's no good," he said. Allie nodded faintly

Sherlock turned and paced to the end of his room. "Anyway," he said. "You need to get the hell out and forget you ever saw me." Allie shook her head. "I can't," she said. Sherlock glared at her. "Allie," he warned.

"You know what _I_ find interesting?" Alaya said. Allie barely glanced at her. "Not right now, Alaya," she said. "I find it interesting that, despite how angry he's been at you, and how much you've hurt him, and how easy it would be to slip into old habits, he's never once called you Alaya."

Allie stopped looking at Sherlock and turned towards her subconscious form. "What does that mean?" she asked. Alaya pursed her lips. "It could mean that old habits die hard. Or that he's never forgotten you. Or it could be a subconscious attempt to bring you back."

"OR," Sherlock's voice broke in. "It could be a conscious attempt to not confuse the two of you." Allie balked at this. "But," she said. "You can't see her!" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "On the contrary," he told his little sister. "I have always been able to see just how my younger sister did, and I have always been able to see the beast that dwelled in her mind, waiting to devour her."

Both Allie and Sherlock turned to Alaya, who disappeared with a poof. Allie suddenly grew quite pale. "Allie?" asked Sherlock, and in the stiff politeness there was a note of concern. "She's not happy," said Allie, shaking her head, before collapsing into a dreamless sleep.

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _Sorry for not updating, guys! Busy times! Sorry for the confusing chapter, I know there are some of you who complain about how hard it is to understand. I hope to update again at some point by the end of today, so yeah! No more long waits!_


	7. Chapter 7

" _Allie," sung Alaya. "Alaya Potatah - my little Allie, she did dally - slept straight through from night to day. Soon she'll wake up and Sherlock Holmes will have gone away!"_

Allie jerked straight up, screaming as Alaya's cackling faded away in her mind. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, but once they did she found herself lying on a bed in a surprisingly dirty hotel room.

Allie looked around. "Sherlock?" she hissed. She heard movement, and found herself blinking a second later as light flooded the room. She quickly located the source of the sudden brightness, a lamp on the far wall, and shielded her eyes against it.

"Sherlock?" she asked again. Alaya appeared and took a seat on the edge of her - of _the_ bed. "Where's Sherlock?" Allie demanded. Alaya laughed. "What makes you think _I_ would know?" she asked. Allie sighed. "We've been through this before," she reminded her subconscious. Alaya laughed again. "Let's go through it again," she said. "We don't have time for this," said Allie, shaking her head. She threw off the rumpled bedcovers and rose to her feet. "We have to find Sherlock."

In the back of her mind she could hear the shockingly annoying tune, "Slept from night to day, and _someone's_ gone away!"

Ignoring it, Allie switched on another light. Alaya snickered behind her. "What?" asked Allie, turning to face her. "Aren't you forgetting something?" asked Allie, implications lacing her tone. "What?" Allie asked again as she crossed her arms. Allie mimicked her and the girl and her subconscious stood toe-to-toe.

"You should really obey me when I ask for something," Allie said warningly. "Why would I do that?" asked Alaya, and in the blink of an eye she was sitting in the chair in the corner.

Allie looked around, her eyes taking note of every detail of the room. "Sherlock really is bad at cleaning, isn't he?" she asked herself. "Mrs. Hudson has a lot to answer to," Alaya replied. "His _mother_ has a lot to answer to," Allie said with a pointed glance.

" _His_ mother?" asked Alaya with a sly smile. Allie shook her head. She looked around the room again. "Wait a second…" she said slowly, turning back to Alaya. "If we're the only two here," at this Alaya nodded. "And I was asleep," Allie continued, "and you're, um, you… who turned on that light?"

Both the girls, real and imaginary, spun to face the lamp resting on the desk. "This is the cliche moment for a masked murderer to jump out and kill us both, just FYI," said Allie quietly, slowly revolving on the spot. Alaya let out a short bitter laugh. "How would you know?" she asked with a mocking smile.

Allie sighed. "I read, remember?" she said to her subconscious. "Right," Alaya grinned. "It'd be hard to be a librarian without reading."

"Ah, so _that's_ what you've been up to all these years." Another voice entered the conversation, and both Allie and Alaya turned to see who it was. To Allie's surprise, Alaya looked almost scared.

"We were wondering what you'd been doing with your life, _if_ you were still alive," said Mycroft, Allie's oldest brother, as he stepped out of the shadows.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hello, Alaya," said Mycroft, his nose wrinkling in disgust as his umbrella swung into a pile of dirty laundry. "I swear," he muttered under his breath, "that only Sherlock Holmes could manage to utterly ruin a room in such a short amount of time."

"Mycroft, not meaning to be rude or anything," said Allie, inching towards the door. "But why the hell are you here?" Her words temporarily drew Mycroft's attention from the state of the room. "Right," he said slowly to himself. "Why the hell I'm here." Allie stood awkwardly a few feet from the exit, Alaya lingering beside her.

"Why the hell _I'm_ here," Mycroft repeated. Allie felt increasingly uncomfortable. "Not meaning to be rude," said Mycroft, "but, Alaya, why are _you_ here?" He took a sudden step towards her, not caring about the filth that impeded his every step.

"You left… years ago. No word from you at all, until…" Mycroft inhaled deeply. Allie knew exactly what he was talking about. Two years previously she had decided it was about time Allie made a reappearance in the Holmes' lives, for the better or the worst, so she did it the only way she knew how.

Allie faked her death.

Nobody would ever guess that a Holmes would die from some trivial physical limitations, which made choking the perfect way for Allie to die. She handled all the funeral arrangements, even got her hands on a body in case her… _family_ decided to check the records.

None of them showed up. Thinking back, Allie could see why they wouldn't have, but at the time it had hurt her deeply. They were supposed to come to her funeral and realise just how much they needed her, even though now they could never have her again. They were supposed to weep bitter tears over how cruel a life she had lived, and they would swear to be better people. The perfect ending.

"It isn't one of your precious storybooks," Alaya had sneered. "This is reality. You should visit it sometimes - maybe then you'd get your head out of your -"

"Why would you show up _now_ , of all times?" Mycroft asked, interrupting Allie's train of thought. "Why not any other time, why not - why not Sherlock's funeral?" Allie rolled her eyes. "I was at Sherlock's funeral," she said. "I watched the burial. I wasn't the only uninvited guest."

Mycroft opened his mouth but said nothing, so Allie continued. "I wasn't going to let you two have all the fun, was I?" she asked. Mycroft blinked twice. "I suppose," he said, "we should've realised that you wouldn't… that you would get involved somehow."

"Yes," Allie agreed. The two siblings stood in silence for a moment until Mycroft spoke again. "Butt out," he said. Allie looked at him in shock. "What?" she asked, not quite believing what she was hearing.

"Butt out," said Mycroft again. "Go back to your library and your messy little flat, go back to the life you've made without us. You made a choice, Alaya, and you'll have to stick with it." When Allie didn't speak, Mycroft cleared his throat. "Besides," he said. "Even if you were still a part of the Holmes family, I doubt very much you'd have made the cut."

Allie stared at her 'brother' for a second before pulling a gun out from the back of her shirt, cocking it, and pointing it at him. Mycroft shifted nervously where he stood. "You wouldn't," he said. Allie laughed. "You don't sound so certain, Mikey," she said to her brother.

Mycroft straightened, his nose sticking into the air. "You wouldn't," he said again, and Allie could tell he believed it. Without a word, she turned the gun and pointed it at herself. "Tell me, Mycroft," she said. "Do you think I'll do it?" Mycroft looked uncertain. Allie waited, but his answer didn't come.

"No response?" said Allie, and Mycroft realised his mistake. "Allie," he said warningly. "Too late," said Allie, and she pulled the trigger.


	9. Chapter 9

Nothing.

Silence.

Not even Alaya's superior tone made its way into her subconscious.

The reason?

Allie Holmes had shot herself in the head. And generally, after shooting yourself in the head, that's the last thing you do.

Conveniently, the Holmes' family rarely acted general.

Allie was just alone in her Mind Palace. Everything was the colour of blood, and it was entirely empty aside from her, but Allie was there and Allie was alive.

And she wouldn't stop laughing.

"What is wrong with me?" she asked, choking on yet another giggle as it rose in her throat. She sighed at the lack of response; she wasn't used to being without Alaya.

Stepping out of her Mind Palace was more difficult than it normally was, but Allie thought that was justified. After all, _normally_ Allie had Alaya with her, and _normally_ Allie hadn't just pointed a gun at her own head and pulled the trigger, and _normally_ Allie didn't potentially almost kill her prim and proper brother, Mycroft.

"Probably _not_ something I'll want to try again in the near future," she said quietly as she glanced at her brother's unconscious body propped up against the desk. "In fairness," she said as a reply to her own comment, "it's mostly Sherlock's fault for leaving his room so screwed up."

After shooting herself in the head (with blanks, obviously) Mycroft had taken a frantic step backwards, tripped over a lamp lying on the ground, and fallen onto the wall, knocking himself out. The second his eyes closed, Alaya disappeared.

Allie opened the mini-fridge in the corner of the room. "Just apples," she said to herself. "How boring."

Something, somewhere in her mind, was screaming, but without Alaya to translate Allie had to push it back.

"Who are you?"

The voice that posed the question made Allie spin around. It was childish but strangely strong at the same time. What she found behind her was just as strange.

"I'm James," said the man. "And I don't know who you are."

"I'm Al-aya, I'm Alaya." Something told Allie that she shouldn't tell this man that she was Allie. "Alaya Holmes, isn't it?" asked the man with a smile. "I could tell. You've got his eyes." "Who -"

"Your brother," James said. "We're friends. And those, my dear," he continued, motioning to the bag of apples Allie held. "Are for me."


End file.
